


Of Tea and Redemption

by gayships



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (involving draco and harrys childhoods obvs), ? - Freeform, Apologies, Friends to Lovers, Harry is a Little Shit, Kissing, Little Sisters, M/M, Muggle Culture, Muggles, Past Abuse, Redeemed Draco, Redemption, Slow Burn, Tea, bc i feel like they would be good friends, draco has a little sis and shes a perfect bean, hermione is a goddess as per usual, i guess, i swear its not dram/one it just sounds like it, nerds falling in love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-22 18:51:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9620897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayships/pseuds/gayships
Summary: Nearly a decade after the Battle of Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy apologizes to Hermione, leading to an unlikely friendship.Frankly, Harry's horrified.





	1. Apologies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco apologizes to Hermione.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So this is a new work. I really love Draco as a character, and believe he was deserving of a redemption arc. This is NOT dramione, I just rlly love the dynamic between the two, and tbh Hermione needs a Bookish friend. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> (is drarry still even alive its 2017 grace jfc)

As it has many times before, change came with Hermione Granger. 

 

For once, however, she wasn’t the driving force. This change did not require protests or pins or punching purebloods in the nose- quite the opposite really. 

 

She’s been in the shop in Diagon Alley for nearly an hour- though she’s not prone to visiting the area, usually flooded with students and overpriced merchandise- it had been a requirement today. Over the course of one weekend, she’s managed to amass a small army of owls- well, three, but still. Ron had discovered the poor owlets trapped in a muggle-area sewer grate, and with some difficulty had rescued them.

 

They would have just brought them off to an nearby magical creatures caretaking facility- but it’s the _holidays._ So, Hermione had ended up here, at the most reputable owl caretaker in the wizarding world, waiting to find out on the logistics of taking care of baby owls. Of course, being the holidays, the place is crowded to the brim- children swarm around, shrieking with delight and generally harassing the myriad of owls to be chosen from. Even Hermione Granger, Savior of the Wizarding World, recieves no reprieve from the challenge of holiday shopping. 

 

But Hermione won’t dare complain. Ron’s the only one who still pulls the savior card. Harry had used it the first few months- but now? Hermione winces at the thought of Harry doing what she’s doing- standing in Diagon Alley all alone during the holidays. Her friend rarely went out shopping without a hefty dose of polyjuice potion. Even after eight years, the public was unbearable. Ron says that if people want to let him cut in line and give him coffee on the house because he had approximately the worst secondary school experience of all time, who is he to complain? 

 

Hermione would say it’s unethical to take from people just because they were at the face of the war- many people suffered much more than them. It flies over Ron’s head, and had flown over Harry’s when she’d had to lecture him about it.

 

So, Hermione waits in line like everyone else. As the line shortens, she thumbs the photographs of the owls in her pocket- she’d brought them along so the owner could identify the species for her. She suspects Barn, but you can never be too careful.

 

Hermione’s attention is drawn to the sound of crashing near her- she looks over to see a girl, probably just under Hogwarts age, attempting to stop herself from falling completely on the ground where she has knocked over an entire table of _Mistress Ingrinia’s Complete Guide to The Horned Owl Species._ Hermione furrows her brows- the girl appears to be trying to get _away_ from something- Hermione glances to the figure standing in front of the girl.

 

Nothing particularly interesting. A tall woman, mid thirties probably, with black hair scraped into a bun. But- Hermione barely catches it, but she spots the women pulling down a sleeve that had ridden up. Left arm. Hermione’s breathe catches as her mind helpfully supplies two words- _Death Eater._ Her breath catches. _Dark Mark,_ probably part of one of the few factions that managed to escape the Ministry’s thumb after the war. Possibly planning a terrorist attack-

 

A child jostles Hermione from her frozen place. She shakes her head- she’s at the front of the line. There hasn’t been an attack in years. A Death Eater wouldn’t be out here in the open. Her paranoia’s just acting up again. Just a woman shopping. Just another day. 

 

Hermione slides the photo of the owls onto the counter. 

 

__________

 

A few knuts later, Hermione has a probably excessive amount of owlet-care utilities- she probablly could have managed to take care of them soley on spells, but she likes to have the extra assurance.

 

There’s a Floo down the street- Apparation’s been giving her a headache, lately- and she turns the corner swiftly to make her way there. 

 

And promptly bumps into someone. 

 

She drops her bags, and impulsively has her hand on her wand before the woman can even say a word. Hermione meets her eyes, prepared to thrust a spell- 

 

“Granger.” The words seem foreign around the woman’s lips- like she’s not meant to be saying them. Hermione, despite herself, feels her cheeks begin to turn a shade of red. She tucks her wand back into her pocket, fumbling to accept the hand that holds out her dropped bags.

 

“Thanks- Sorry, on the wrong side of the street, my fault really.” She says, and the woman gives her a tight lipped smiled. Hermione scans her face and pauses- it’s the woman from the shop. Hermione impulsively glances at her wrist. It’s covered, obviously. 

 

“Actually- would you like to get some tea?” the woman asks, and Hermione pauses, before straightening. She looks the woman in the eye. 

 

“I don’t do interviews anymore.” She says, and starts to move past her. Hermione doesn’t have time for rude journalists who are vying to bite off fame by exploiting her place in the war. Before she can, her wrist is caught. Hermione _whirls._ She’s learned to deal with disrespectful people like this- she can deal with it when it’s teenagers or children, but this is an adult woman. Hermione opens her mouth. 

 

“I don’t want a interview. I want to apologize.” she says, and Hermione freezes. Strings connect in her head. 

 

The little girl falling backwards. The pulled down wrist collar. Being out in the open without malicious intent- how didn’t she see it? 

 

She should have trusted herself. Death Eater. But not anyone particularly horrible- at least, not horrible enough that they’re in Azkaban or still in prison. Hermione has had this happen once before- a young girl, must have been a first year at Hogwarts during the battle- who had come to Hermione’s house at the time and broken down- blubbering about her parents and how she had believed them and she was wrong the whole time. Hermione had been a bit horrified at it all- the girl didn’t even have a Dark Mark, and yet she felt like this.

 

But this is different. This woman isn’t a child- she has a Dark Mark, which usually warranted a decade in prison by itself. Good behavior, possibly. Hermione suddenly can’t breathe because _no,_ she doesn’t want to here this person apologies. She jerks her arm out of her grip and takes a deep breath. 

 

“Oh- sorry. You don’t even recognize me, do you?” the woman asks and Hermione blinks. The woman doesn’t look like anyone she knows at all- especially not from the war. Dark hair, deep brown eyes- tall. Hermione tilts her head. The woman reaches into her pocket and pulls out a flask. 

 

And then Hermione understands. Polyjuice. Obvious, really. Lots of Death Eaters were recognizable faces- popular before the war, and infamous after. They would be attacked constantly in the streets- nothing to do but polyjuice, really. The woman pulls Hermione into a closed off alleyway- Hermione lets her, as now she’s interested- maybe it’s someone she knows from school. The woman takes a quick, irate sip of the flask, and the magic does it’s work. 

 

Everything goes pale rapidly. Eyes, skin, hair. All the color seems to leach out of the woman- man, Hermione vaguely realizes as the chest deflates. Short man, too- Hermione’s not the tallest woman on the planet, and they’re about the same height. Her mind doesn’t catch up for a moment as she recognizes that the transformation is over. She meets his eyes and her breath leaves her. 

 

“Malfoy.” she murmurs, shocked to her bones. She hadn’t thought about this particular classmate in years. During the first few years after the war, she had spent a few nights thinking of him, about where he was- he hadn’t been punished too a high extent in the war. Harry had testified for Narcissa for the crucial moment that had saved his life- effectively leading to her having no jail time, but a broken wand and half the Malfoy fortune locked up for the next century. Narcissa’s trial was first, and she had testified for Draco. 

 

She’d caused quite a scene- crying, screaming about Voldemort- apparently she had had to be dragged out of the room. But- along with the fact that Draco had apparently looked like a sickly child during his trial- had convinced the jury. Draco Malfoy was free, with only a ban from using any fighting spells and a five year parole. The jury had decided that, considering the fact that he was a child with two parents at the head of Voldemorts tight-knit group,and he hadn’t actually killed anyone, there was no real reason to punish him- Harry hadn’t given enough damns to tell anyone important about what actually happened in the Room of Requirement, and everyone else seemed to respect his descision on this. 

 

 

And now Draco was here. Standing in front of her, looking older than the last time she saw him- not exactly a noticeable age, not like the wrinkles around Luna Lovegoods eyes, or the bags under Rons, or the bit of weight that Hermione’s put on- no, Draco Malfoy has aged well, skin still looking tight and flawless, eyes that look like he gets eight hours a night, and appearing to be fit. He looks older in a different way- his hair that used to be greased back constantly is cut shorter, bangs cut just long enough for the side-swept end to brush his eyelids. His eyes don’t look cruel like they always used to- he looks hopeful, concerned, perhaps.

 

Draco Malfoy is no longer imposing. 

 

Hermione could laugh. 

 

So that’s how Hermione Granger ends up sitting across from him, sipping tea in a cafe of his choice- is nice, actually. Run and staffed by two witches who don’t blink at the site of Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy sitting across from eachother. There’s only one quiet customer who is a woman gently trying to feed two toddlers, who, although fussy, aren’t loud about it. Hermione enjoys it- she hasn’t been in a cafe with this sort of atmosphere for years. Her being there always ruins it. 

 

Draco is quiet, and fidgety. He order tea, also, but he seems disinterested, just staring intently at Hermione as she sips her tea. He’s tapping his fingers on his thighs beneath the table. Waiting for something. 

 

“You said you wanted to apologize?” She finally asks, trailing off. She honestly wants to hear what he has to say. She wonders if it will be good. She wonders if it’ll make her forgive him. She probably won’t ever talk to him again, either way. Draco runs a hand through his hair.

 

  
“You and I both know that there’s no excuse for what I’ve done. What I…. I supported. And you have no obligation to forgive me, no one does. I just- I can’t deal with the thought that I never really apologized. I think you deserve an explanation, above all.” Draco says, words carefully placed, and Hermione wonders if he’s recited them. Probably. She leans back, holding her tea and staring at Malfoy appraisingly. 

 

“Uh- During the trials my mother begged me to tell the jury I was abused. She thought it would help me get sympathy, yknow? But uh- the truth is, my parents loved me. I was their only child, the perfect little Slytherin, the _heir._ ” Hermione doesn’t say a thing as Draco’s brows furrow, staring at his tea as if angry at it. He clears his throat. 

 

“ And I- I really believed them when they spewed shit about half-bloods and muggleborns. I really thought they weren’t _right_ in the same way that abusing children isn’t right. I didn’t really have anyone I could trust telling me differently.” Draco pauses, opening his mouth, then closing it, then opening again. “ It was in my sixth year that I think that I started to really question things. My father was in Azkaban and I- I was supposed to kill Dumbledore. If I didn’t, my family would die. And it felt like there was nothing I could do- and. I nearly killed him, I really did, and- I blame myself for his death. Even if Snape was the one who dealt the final blow, I really think that if I had not pointed my wand at him in the Astronomy Tower that day, he would have lived.”

 

“And then I let the Death Eater’s into _Hogwarts,_ and God, I don’t- I don’t know why none of you ever told anyone. You really should have. It’s _my fault_ that they died, and I can’t- I can’t explain how sorry I am for that. I basically cast the spells myself, and I will never expect redemption for that. “ Hermione had remained impassive the whole time, but she nearly gawks when she sees tears in Draco’s eyes. Something in her winces and wants to grab his hand.

 

But this isn’t Ron, or Harry, or _anyone_ that Hermione cares about. It’s Draco Malfoy- and he’s right. He’s killed people. Child or not, she can’t forgive him for that. Look past it? Have a civil conversation with him? Fine. But he doesn’t deserve forgiveness. 

 

“I’m- not here to ask for forgiveness. I just had to apologize. For- for being a racist prat in school, for being _awful_ to you- to Harry and Ron and all your friends, too, but- I was horrible to you. No one deserves that. Especially not someone who was going through what you were going through. Really, it’s not an excuse, but- I was so _jealous_ because you struggled and you fought and you got _praised._ At least, for some of it. Dumbledore respected you. And- I thought that somehow I was struggling too- which, you could say I was. I loved my father but- even I knew that Voldemort was wrong. And just- I tried to be like my father, because he’s the only person who ever praised me.” 

 

“I- I haven’t really understood until recently that I should have been considering who he wanted me to be, and if I wanted to be that. Instead, I let myself be his puppet. Be Voldemort’s puppet. I hurt people in the name of something that I didn’t really believe in. I didn’t even know what it was to believe in something, then. I still don’t think I do. I just wanted someone to praise me- and I had convinced myself that you were being praised for no reason. That you deserved to struggle more, because everyone else struggled just as much as you, and you three got praised.” 

 

“I thought I was some sort of revolutionary, standing up for everyone that didn’t get attention. I’ve- I’ve realized that I wasn’t thinking about anyone but myself. You- you, and Harry, and Ron- you saved us. You saved everyone. And that was- that was _impossibly_ hard- and I didn’t even question it until sixth year- until all the racist prats started getting powerful and suddenly the Golden Trio wasn’t getting praised anymore.You were the rebels- and off went my identity. Suddenly I was just- a child begging for his father’s attention.” 

 

Draco looks away, staring intently at his untouched tea. He swallows thickly, then shuts his eyes. 

 

“I’m sorry, Granger.” he finally says, quiet yet clear. He pushes out his chair.

 

Hermione’s hand snaps forward to grab Draco’s wrist- she knocks Draco’s full tea in the process, but it freezes in mid air- common little magical blip that happens when wizards drop something. Draco doesn’t sit again, just stares at Hermione’s hand on his wrist. It’s the one with the Dark Mark. 

 

“Sit down, you bloody prat. I’ll forgive you for being a prick, if you drink your tea and tell me all the dirt on your Slytherin friends in highschool.” Hermione says, quick and excitable sounding- but the words have a strong meaning behind them. _I forgive you, let’s talk._ Draco, slowly, staring at her as if she’s about to stand back up and scream him out of the shop, sits back down.He takes a sip of tea, and Hermione smirks. 

 

“Not apologizing for punching you, just so you know.” 

 

Draco laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My tumblrs marmorians, though it's mostly Voltron, so you've been warned. 
> 
> Comment and leave kudos if you like! My posting schedule might be odd, but feel free to yell at me if I go more than a week w/o posting (if i don't leave a reason, ofc.) 
> 
> hermiones gorgeous okay bye


	2. Romance Novels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello sorry 4 not updating here is some un proofread stuff

“Bloody _Malfoy!_ Every week! What do they even talk about? How many racist slurs he’s called her?” Ron is pacing, feet slapping on the floor of Harry’s classroom. Harry glances at him as he desperately tries to organize his students papers- his desk looks like a book threw up on it. Again. 

 

“Not to say I like her hanging out with that bloody prat, but what’s that thing you always say?” Harry asks, frowning at a mysterious stain on Felicity Barnbacks paper. Did he put that there? It looks the size of his mug. _Bloody Hell,_ he’s going to have to beg the new potions teacher to help him organize- she’s a genius when it comes to housework spells. He runs a hand through his his hair, wondering what she would demand- last time it had been an autograph for her younger sister.

 

Ron pauses in his pacing, then slumps into a desk, sighing. 

 

“Always right, in the end.” he says, though moaning through it, likes it’s impossible to say. Harry laughs, swooping around his desk to plop into the chair next to Ron- he suddenly feels quite like he’s at Hogwarts again, sitting next to his best friend and grinning. He shakes his head, standing at the same time Ron does. Harry grabs Ron’s wrist- a twitch of his wand, a _snap,_ and their gone from Harry’s classroom and standing in the middle of the bustling Burrow. 

 

Maybe Harry still hasn’t _actually_ gotten around to getting his apparation license. But McGonagallhad begrudgingly had the castles wards altered after several failed attempts to create a Floo in Harry’s classroom- by George Weasley, a face that McGonagall had practically fainted at seeing in her school again. And nobody but the press really wanted to point it out- most people seemed to think he was oblivious to it.

 

Harry’s still a master at breaking the rules, a decade later. 

 

The Burrow is alive with the monthly family reunion- much smaller than the yearly-which involves anyone with a drop of Weasley blood in them, and then some- but much bigger than the weekly meeting, which was specifically only those who had either married or inhabited the uterus of Molly Weasley, or married to one of said club members- and Harry, too. Hermione was still trying to get a seat, but Molly was convinced that if she held out long enough, Hermione would get frustrated enough to just get hitched to her son- her main goal as a technical empty-nester, at the moment. 

 

Empty-nester was a laughable term for Molly Weasley. Her house would always be the opposite of lonely, as long as she was in it. 

 

So, monthly visit. The place is crowded, but not swarming. The Burrow had been expanded in the past decade, now looking like an even larger rickety group of houses that were all shoved together from the outside. It creates quite a picture. Harry ruffles the hair of Percy’s daughter, Peony, who sticks her tongue out at him, but beams a moment afterwards. Harry beams back. 

 

He and Ron seperate for a moment, each taking their own path as they weave their way through the crowd, touching waists and ruffling hair and having cheeks pinched- they come back together where Hermione is curled in her chair, holding her mug. Molly Weasley sits across from her, trying to entice her toddler grandaughter, named Molly after her, into liking Hermione. 

 

Molly Weasley is nothing if not persistant. Molly Weasley the Second, however, is having none of it- her lips starts to quiver at even the insinuation of having to interact with Hermione. Hermione doesn’t seem to care, just laughs, tucking her feet under her body and sipping tea. 

 

The chairs not big enough for the both of them, but Ron slides in next to her anyways. Hermioneshoves him in the side half-heartedly, but let’s him into her space with a light smile.

 

“Was wondering when you two would get here. Harry still making a mess of his students homework?” Hermione asks, watching as the younger Molly starts grappling for Harry- Harry wasn’t a baby person, but all babies seemed like Harry people. Harry absentmindedly let’s her play with his hand, grubby fingers bending his thumbs as if they are the most interesting thing in the world. 

 

“He was digging in the bin when I walked in his room. I bet he makes up all the grades he gives out.” Ron says, stealing Hermione’s cup for a sip. She mumbles something about him getting his own tea and takes it back. 

 

“I do _not._ I have a system. Sometimes things end up in the bin that I didn’t actually want in the bin, alright? Like you don’t have single drawer for every paper you get at the office.” Harry says, turning the conversation around. Hermione balks at Ron. 

 

“A _single_ drawer?” she asks, incredulous. It’s quite a feat, actually- Harry had seen Ron place a paper in the drawer once. He’s sure there’s some sort of spell on it. 

 

“Not all of us can be tidy _lawyers_ \- your office has got no personality! Could at least put up some drawings.” Ron says, tugging on a curl of Hermione’s hair playfully. She swats his hand away. 

 

“I take _clients_ in my office, Ronald. I don’t need some drawing of a giraffe in there.” she says, all the while sinking further into the ginger’s embrace. Molly Weasley Senoir, who has completely let go of the baby who has chosen to start drooling all over Harry’s arm with frightening dedication, tuts. 

 

“Darling, your good enough of a lawyer that anyone would take you, doodles or not. One day you’ll be done with that job and you’ll look at your empty office and wish that you’d given it a bit of personality. And I know a thing or two about making a place feel like a home.” she says, leaning back as she says so, as if smugly noting that her house is one of the most _homely_ places on earth. 

 

She deserves to be smug, Harry thinks. Hermione just laughs, and the conversation dwindles into needless things: which relatives are here, an Auror mission that Ron’s dealing with, how many spitballs Harry was subjected to that day. (7) At some point, Percy swipes his daughter away from Harry, leaving Harry with a wet sleeve and little Molly with teary eyes. 

 

Molly Weasley stands and stretches, yawning. She takes a moment to ruffle Ron’s hair, smiling as he attempts to pat it back down.

 

“Well, duty calls. I’m sure your father’s nearly destroyed the kitchen by now. You kids can gossip about all the dirty stuff now.” she says, then saunters away, much to Ron’s stuttering and Harry and Hermione’s amusement. Immediately, though, Harry turn’s to Hermione. 

 

“So, what’s this I hear about your running around with Malfoy. Didn’t think you one to start an affair, Granger.” Harry says, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Hermione gasps and makes to swat at him, but she’s a little too tangled up in Ron and her tea. Instead she glares at Ron while he laughs. 

 

“ _First_ of all, it wouldn’t be an affair since Ron and I are _not_ married, no matter how much his mother would like. _Second,_ I am most certainely not doing anything of that _sort_ with Draco. _Thi-_ “ she starts, her voice switched to prim and proper _I’m Hermione Granger and I’m Most Definetely Right_ voice. 

 

“ _Draco?_ ” Ron says, incredulous. He stares at Hermione like she’s grown a humungous green lump on her face. She stands her ground, keeping her expression challenging. 

 

“Yes, Draco. Really. It’s been nearly a decade since school- we’re adults now. Calling eachother by our own names, and other fantastic things. It’s nice. He reads nearly as much as _me._ It’s fun to have someone who knows what I’m talking about when I talk about some arrogant poet from a millenia ago.” she says, looking defensive. She’s pulled away from Ron a bit. Harry frowns. 

 

“So the prick reads. Hermione, he’s- he’s _Malfoy._ You do remember what he’s done?” Harry asks, frowning. She doesn’t meet his eyes as she opens her mouth again. 

 

“He apologized. Profusely.And personally. He didn’t expect me to forgive him or anything, just wanted to say it. And he- he answers my questions. That’s more than any- any of the others have tried to give me. He doesn’t deny it. He’s really not much of a prick, anymore. Still sarcastic and judgemental, but not xenophobic and bigoted, anymore.” She says, her voice dwindling to a mumble, as if she expects that Ron and Harry aren’t even listening. She sounds a little hurt, even.

 

She starts to stand, and Ron grabs her wrist. 

 

“ ‘mione, c’mon. We weren’t trying to question your judgement. If you think Malfoy’s worth your time, then he’s worth your time. Just ‘cause we don’t like him doesn’t mean we think your making a bad choice.” he says, in a moment of brilliance. Harry nearly balks- he agrees, but he hadn’t even thought about that. He’s not good with Hermione like Ron is- can never even imagine what she’s mad about, can never form an apology quick enough.

 

Hermione looks skeptical, but she slides back into her boyfriend’s embrace. 

 

“But you have _got_ to find out something embarassing about him.” 

 

______________________

 

 

“This is terrible.” Harry says, wrapping his coat tighter around him as the snow practically seeps into his soul. Harry’s tagging along with Ron for an Auror mission- something that he discovered he could do without complaint from anyone a year or two ago. 

 

He’s regretting it already. They’d already caught the guy who had apparently been brewing incredibly illegal love potions in his basement for the past few months. Now, Ron is being forced to take records as the Potions Department collects the hundreds of vials and ingredients kept in the basement. 

Leaving Harry to stand in a heavy snowstorm. Freezing his bloody _balls_ off. 

 

It seems like hours before Ron half-jogs back out to him, the potions crew loading into a van further down. 

 

“C’mon, I wanna get drunk with you and Hermione and watch cooking shows like the sad adults we are.” He says, smiling and pulling Harry to the building. The find a Floo there, which Ron promptly takes advantage of. 

 

“Home of Hermione Granger, please.” He says, smiling. Usually homes have couple names, but Ron had moved in with Hermione and no one had bothered to change it yet. Harry suspects that Ron secretly enjoys calling it hers. 

 

They both dissapear in a woosh, and Harry stumbles forward. No matter what, he can never just walk out of a Floo. 

 

His attention is drawn to the furniture in the living room- perched on a chair is Hermione, holding a book with one hand, the other hand mid-gesture. She’d been talking- Harry’s eyes draw to the second occupant of the room. He can’t see anything but the back of their head from the couch, but he’d recognize that white-blonde hair anywhere. 

 

“Malfoy?” Ron beats him to the question, incredulous. Malfoy cranes his head to look behind himself, frowning as he takes in Harry and Ron in their sopping wet clothes, Harry’s hair still partially covered in fast-melting snowflakes. 

 

“Oh, Ron, hello. Thought you were visiting that old woman tonight who was convinced that her tree had become sentient. Hi Harry.” Hermione chimes in, looking unshocked at their appearance. A little dazed, Harry walks towards the coatrack, pulling off his jacket as he walks. 

 

“ _Malfoy_?” Ron repeats, still looking dazed. Draco quirks an eyebrow. 

 

“Still as articulate as ever, Weasley.” Malfoy says, but surprisingly, Harry hears the good-natured tone. He’s not saying _Weasley_ like it’s an insult, at least. Harry begins attempt to tug off his shoes. Eyes draw to him as he knocks into the wall. He ends up flinging his shoe halfway across the room and nearly falling on his arse. 

 

“I’ve told you a thousand times, there are spells to get your shoes off. You look ridiculous.” Hermione says as Harry finally gets his feet to the floor. It’s somehow disconcerting to be in the same room as Malfoy in his socks. 

 

“Your a traitor to those of us who grew up taking off our shoes like normal people. I refuse to submit to the bourgeoise.” Harry replies, turning. He can see Malfoy fully now, who is sitting with his legs sprawled out on the couch with a book in his lap. He looks strangely informal, especially since he’s wearing a black button down and slacks. Harry has never really seen him in anything but school robes, so the image of him in his socks is a little clashing. 

 

“Is noone going to question why Malfoy is in our house?” Ron asks, suddenly recovered from his one-word questions spout. Draco doesn’t bother to acknowledge him, just turns to Hermione with a small smile, as if anticipating a snarky response. 

“Because I invited him? We’re reading _Iris Awakening_ by Sally Ursian.” Hermione says, giving Ron and look. Harry rolls his eyes- they pretend that they can communicate with their eyes subtly. It’s anything but subtle- Hermione is obviously saying _We’ve been over this_ and Ron is saying _But I don’t like himmmm._

 

“Why are you reading vampire romance novels?” Harry interrupts suddenly. All eyes turn to him again. Hermione turns a little pink. 

 

“And why exactly do you know that it’s a vampire romance novel, Potter?” Malfoy asks, and it feels very odd to be referred to as Potter again. He can’t help but feel a twinge of annoyance at it. 

 

“Because it’s Luna’s fourth favorite genre. I went over to her house for some notes I left there and ended up with a four hour lecture on why Anastasia’s relationship with Bree was toxic.” Harry says, complaint in his voice. Ron is drifting towards Hermione while trying to avoid Draco at the same time at this point, but he starts playing with her hair like a possesive child as soon as he gets to her. 

 

“Mmm. He avoids saying that he proceeded to read _three_ of them. Kept coming into my office and talking about the excessive usage of the word _breasts.”_ Ron adds grumpily. Harry tries not to blush, but he does. Bugger off, Ron. 

 

“Oh lord. Don’t get me started on the _breasts._ Draco keeps reading the sentences to me but he won’t say that actual word.” Hermione complains, glaring at Draco. He turns to his book with a haughty expression. 

 

“Isn’t _Claudia’s tits sat high, prominent, and overflowing_ so much better than the real thing, though?” he asks, the words flowing off his tongue without stutter. He gives Hermione an appraising look. 

 

She throws her book at him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love u for reading this okay bye ALSo i have a new tumblr its @cxmplex its nsfw tho so WATCH OUT


End file.
